Not Kobayashi
by Dread Pirate
Summary: The Kobayashi Maru is rightly the most famous test the Academy has to offer. But there is another lesser known test, which some would argue is even more important...


"D'you know something?" said Academy psychologist Onca Smith, rubbing her eyes with one hand and accepting the sympathetic cup of coffee from her colleague. "This is without doubt the second worst part of my job."

"The second?" Adam Bartolomey was giving his own coffee a brief, intent stare as if it had somehow offended him.

"Definitely. Definitely the second." Onca sipped and checked the clock. "Eight more minutes and the parade of freaks begins, and don't look at me like that, it's my professional opinion as a scientist and an officer."

"Parade of freaks. Technical term, right?"

Onca looked around for somewhere to set the coffee down, but the shiny utilitarianism of Starfleet corridor design defeated her. She paced instead.

"It's their hopeful little faces, Adam. The endless string of hopeful little faces. And I know that after twenty minutes I'm going to turn half of those hopeful little faces into devastated little faces. It's bad for my digestion."

"You don't have a digestion. You ruined it eating Rigellian seaweed cake."

"I do too have a digestion and it's being dwarfed by my burgeoning stomach ulcer. Caused by the little faces."

Onca paused in her pacing long enough to check the clock again.

"Did you ever think about this part of the Academy when you were learning?" she asked. "Did you ever wonder what the hell your tutors were doing when they opened that door and put you through it?"

"I was never put forward for this particular module, strangely…"

"What was I thinking? Of course you weren't. You were hunched over a bio-filter's innards trying to figure out which holes were big enough to fit a virus through." Onca gave him a dirty look. "Guess how long it took them to judge me."

"This is a trick question, isn't it?"

"No, just guess!"

"If I guess too high you'll be furious, if I guess too low you'll be merely peeved. I'm not going to take the risk. I'm Switzerland."

"You're a coward."

"Matter of perspective."

Onca flung her head back and sighed. "Which is exactly what this bloody test is all about. And it's my perspective that counts. I hate this bit, I _hate_ it."

A slender hand was shoved under Adam's nose. "All right. Give me the list. Who are we looking at first?"

Adam wordlessly handed her the data padd, tapping up the rota. He knew better than to argue with his working partner when she was in this kind of mood.

"Oh, this is priceless. Look at this. Read that name."

"Cadet In'Hchh Tomare. Hmm. Must be an Alvechhian with a name like that."

"Exactly! Have you ever seen an Alvechhian pass this module?"

"I've never actually seen an Alvechhian in the flesh -"

"You mean in the chitin. And that's my point. They're rare. And bright yellow. And about eight foot tall. There's just no way."

Adam rested his chin on his hand. "Have you ever wondered if this test is very slightly xenophobic?"

"I," said Onca with great assumed dignity, "am not of a high enough rank to ponder those sorts of questions." She scrolled down the padd list. There were eighteen candidates in this first session, the putative Alvechhian included. Another name jumped out of the list at her.

"Tell me, Adam," she said, as the final seconds ticked away for the cadets to arrive, "what kind of a name is Cadet Data?"

The Kobayashi Maru is deservedly the Starfleet Academy test that has gone down in history as infamous: almost as infamous as the cadet who cheated it. But there is another test, conducted at some point within a cadet's very first year. This _other_ test is shrouded in obscurity, and is barely mentioned in the faculty except by invigilators like Bartolomey and psychologists like Smith.

The other test is actually far more important. Without the other test, starships everywhere would be robbed of one of their most vital resources.

"Cadets!"

The eighteen came to attention, including the Alvechhian, whose curved exoskeletal crest almost touched the ceiling. Onca paced down the line, making sure she looked each and every one of them in the eye (with the exception of Cadet Tomare, who didn't have any).

"I am Lieutenant Commander Smith, and today we will be conducting a simple psychological profiling test. To forestall your questions, no, you were not required to study for this test, no, you will not be given credits to your graduating score, and yes, your performance in this test will affect your module streaming in your second year."

She met a pair of flat golden eyes in a pale face and moved on effortlessly with barely a searching glance.

"When I give the order, you will enter the room -" she indicated the closed bay doors " - and you will remain in the room until your name is called by myself or Lieutenant Bartolomey." She noted the raised hand. "Yes, Cadet -"

"Data, sir. May I ask a question?"

"Go ahead," said Smith, making a mental tick on her mental checklist. Cadet Data was a perfect study in Starfleet greenhorn, but what the hell, at least he wasn't giving her attitude. Too many of the fast-track students had attitude oozing out of their middle-class ears.

"Do you have any standing orders for us upon entry to the room, sir?"

Onca grinned at him humourlessly.

"Your orders," she said, "are to act naturally."

She imagined the pale cadet looked almost dismayed by her words. "Now all of you. Get inside."

She watched them all like hawks, noting who took the initiative and opened the door, who looked afraid, who looked brave. The door opened silently, and closed behind the stragglers. Onca turned to Bartolomey and raised an eyebrow. "Let the games begin."

The Alvechhian came out of the room a scant forty seconds after Cadet Data, who was the first to be called by Onca after barely two minutes inside. "Well done, well done," said Bartolomey automatically, checking off the cadets' names on the padd. "You can return to your scheduled classes."

He watched the towering insectoid pace slowly away down the corridor, behind the fast-retreating figure of the android. In the tiny observation alcove behind him, Onca squashed her cheek against her palm and stared into the view screen fixedly, eyes flicking back and forth across the scene within.

"You know, you're starting to look like a goldfish in a tiny, tiny bowl."

Onca tapped the companel. "Cadet Franckton, exit the room, please." She directed a glower at Bartolomey and spoke in an undertone. "Just catalogue the freaks, okay?"

Adam waved Franckton through with a bright, indulgent smile. "Back to your regular schedule, Cadet…You know, if the seniors ever hear you referring to the cadets like that, you'll be transferred to border patrol on the dark side of the Neutral Zone."

"Cadet Aberrat, exit the room please." Onca turned on Bartolomey with a sigh. "Compared to this, the Neutral Zone would be a merry festive romp…look, look, I knew it, there he goes…"

Adam craned over the screen. "Isn't that -"

"Yep. Full marks to Cadet Strickland."

"Ouch. But at least he still has all his fingers."

"And his eyebrows…I can't believe he used his bare hands. No matter how many times I see it, I still can't believe it…Cadets Iblok and Jonas, exit the room, please." Onca squinted. "We have another winner, I think."

Adam checked off Iblok and Jones and then leant over the back of Onca's chair.

"Did she just stick that in her _mouth_?"

"Not just a tiny taste, a whole damn mouthful. There just aren't enough marks in the module for that kind of achievement. You remember that thing from Kirk's day with the go-faster juice? Cadet d'Augustine, exit the room please."

D'Augustine, a massive breezeblock of a man, gave Bartolomey a grin as he passed.

"Have we ever had any perfect runs?"

"What, not a high-scorer amongst them? No. Course not. Mind you, those first two today were pretty damn quick off the block compared to the bunch we did last year. Tomare will make a cracking science officer and that android will be a commander one day, you mark my words."

"I thought it was interesting the way he asked you a question before he even went in. Not many of them do that."

"Quite so…but did you see his face when I answered him? Cadets Abbeline, Horst and Fritton, exit the room please."

Out of the remaining eight candidates within the room, three more were called to exit within the next six minutes. Onca turned to Bartolomey and gave a shrug with her eyebrows. "Second worst part of the job," she said. "Let's go get 'em."

"Onca?"

"Yep."

"How long _did_ it take your examiners to call you out of the room?"

Onca slapped the door control and stepped inside without answering the question. The holodeck simulation of a hostile planet surface cut out as she did so.

"Cadets!"

The five faces turned to look at her, hopefully. Onca placed a hand on her hip and smiled. "Congratulations. The assessment is over, and I am glad to say you've been selected to take the first steps in pursuit of the noblest calling Starfleet has to offer."

The hopeful looks began to fade on a couple of the faces. In any organisation using military rank (whether actively military or not) anyone being asked to volunteer for a noble cause will instinctively take a step backwards. Being told you'd been selected for a noble calling was akin to being informed that you were volunteering for an extra shot at the Charge of the Light Brigade or a cameo part in Custer's Last Stand.

"Your actions have spoken loudly, and I have listened, cadets. As of next year I am putting you all forward for special service: training in the Starfleet Initial Away Mission Security Officer stream."

When they had all gone and the room was empty, Onca asked:

"What were their names again?"

Bartolomey started to answer, then frowned and checked the padd. "Jones, Jones, Patel, Williams and Jones."

"Figures. Come on, let's set up for the next batch."

Bartolomey tapped at the holodeck controls absently, programming up a new planet surface replete with various mystery liquids, mysterious corpses, sentient carnivorous plants, ambulatory sinking sandpits and a selection of scantily dressed, alluring natives.

"Boss?"

"Yep."

"How long _was_ it before they -"

Onca grinned at him savagely. "I never even got in the _door_, sonny boy. That's why they asked me to do this job once I came back from active starship service."

"Oh." Bartolomey added a random set of curious, perfectly spherical nodules to the simulation and then frowned again.

"Onca?"

"I'm starting to think I prefer "Boss". What?"

"What's the _first _worst thing about this job?"

Onca seemed to give this careful thought, then she picked up her almost cold cup of coffee and shrugged, resting her back against the wall.

"Reading the Away reports I get sent by the commanding officers. I just hate being right." She checked the clock, and saw along the hall a group of hopeful figures approaching. "Here we go again…"


End file.
